Friday Poetry: Christina Rossetti

Hello everyone,

I do hope everyone has a very bookish weekend planned ahead.

This week I have chosen another poem by one of my favourites, Christina Rossetti. This poem is about spans of time and to be honest this week I have been thinking a lot about time, working out how long I have before I’m back teaching and also realising that in September I will have very little spare time. As per usual as I have taken on too much and need to sit down and think about how I am going to sort through everything and make it more manageable for myself.


How Many Seconds in a Minute?


How many seconds in a minute?

Sixty, and no more in it.


How many minutes in an hour?

Sixty for sun and shower.


How many hours in a day?

Twenty-four for work and play.


How many days in a week?

Seven both to hear and speak.


How many weeks in a month?

Four, as the swift moon runn’th.


How many months in a year?

Twelve the almanack makes clear.


How many years in an age?

One hundred says the sage.


How many ages in time?

No one knows the rhyme.



Christina Rossetti


Happy reading.

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Friday Poetry: Robert Graves

Happy Friday!

I hope everyone has a good weekend planned.

I am sticking with my fairy theme this week and have gone for another fairy related poem.

This poem is by Robert Graves (1895-1985) who was an English novelist and poet. He is perhaps most famous for his fictional autobiography of the Roman Emperor Claudius, I, Claudius. 


I’d Love to Be a Fairy’s Child

Children born of fairy stock

Never need for shirt or frock,

Never want for food or fire,

Always get their heart’s desire:

Jingle pockets full of gold,

Marry when they’re seven years old,

Every fairy child may keep

Two strong ponies and ten sheep;

All have houses, each his own,

Built of brick or granite stone;

They live on cherries, they run wild – 

I’d love to be a fairy’s child.


Robert Graves


Happy Reading

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Friday Poetry: John Rice

Yay! Has everyone got that Friday feeling?

I was flicking through some poetry and found this poem and loved the idea of fairies going to school. I’ve always imagined fairies happily playing games and dancing around but never going to school, but I suppose they must go to school, otherwise how do they learn all their fairy skills?


The Fairy School under the Loch

The wind sings its gusty song.

The bell rings its rusty ring.

The underwater fairy children

dive and swim through school gates.

They do not get wet.


The waves flick their flashing spray.

A school of fish wriggles its scaly way.

The underwater fairy children

learn their liquidy lessons.

Their reading books are always dry.


The seal straighten in a stretchy mass.

Teresa the Teacher flits and floats from class to class.

The underwater fairy children

count, play, sing and recite,

their clothes not in the least bit damp.


The rocks creak in their cracking skin.

A fairy boat drifts into a loch of time.

The underwater fairy children

lived, learned and left this life-

their salty stories now dry as their cracked wings.


John Rice

Happy Weekend Reading!

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Friday Poetry: John Gillespie Magee, Jr.


Yesterday my husband, Lord Book Dragon got to fly in a Spitfire. This was his birthday present from his parents and siblings. Needless to say he loved every minute of it. Due to this I decided to choose a suitable poem.

John Gillespie Magee, Jr (1922-1941) was a World War II Royal Canadian Air Force fighter pilot and poet. He flew spitfires in Britain until he was sadly killed in an accidental mid air collision over England in 1941.



High Flight

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds, — and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of — wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov’ring there,
I’ve chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air . . .



Up, up the long, delirious burning blue
I’ve topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or ever eagle flew —
And, while with silent, lifting mind I’ve trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

John Gillespie Magee, Jr



Happy reading!

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Friday Poetry: Sara Teasdale

It’s Friday!

Happy Friday Everyone!

Tomorrow is the anniversary of the moon landing so I have chosen a related poem. Yes, this week I am very moon landing orientated on the blog.

This poem is by Sara Teasdale, Teasdale was an American lyric poet born in 1884. Sadly she committed suicide in 1933.

This poem depicts the moon one morning.


Morning Song

A diamond of a morning

Waked me an hour too soon;

Dawn had taken in the stars

And left the faint white moon.


O white moon, you are lonely,

It is the same with me,

But we have the world to roam over,

Only the lonely are free.


Sara Teasdale


Happy reading.

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Friday Poetry: Langston Hughes

Hello my fellow readers!

I am back home now after an amazing holiday, I am slowly getting used to the time difference.

I have a lot of book reviews to write over the next few days, so I will be playing catch up blog wise but hopefully I will get there. Usually I post my Friday Poetry entry in the morning so apologies this is late in the day.

The chosen poem this week is by Langston Hughes, Hughes is best remembered as a pioneer of American jazz poetry. Jazz poetry has jazz like movements in rhythm, repetitive phrasing and the appearance of improvisation.


To You

To sit and dream, to sit and read,

To sit and learn about the world

Outside our world of here and now-

Our problem world-

To dream of vast horizons of the soul

Through dreams made whole,

Unfettered, free – help me!

All you who are dreamers too,

Help me to make

Our world anew.

I reach out my dreams to you.


Langston Hughes (1902-1967)


Happy Friday!


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Friday Poetry, 5th July 2019

Happy Friday!

I have chosen a poem about summer and when it rains in summer.

This poem is by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882). Longfellow was an American poet and educator. He was also the first American to translate Dante Alighieri’s Divine Comedy and was one of the Fireside Poets from New England.


Rain in Summer

How beautiful is the rain!

After the dust and heat,

In the broad and fiery street,

In the narrow lane,

How beautiful is the rain!

How it clatters along the roofs,

Like the tramp of hoofs

How it gushes and struggles out

From the throat of the overflowing spout!


Henry Wadsworth Longfellow


Hope you all have a book filled weekend.